


I've Got You

by XVettes (JordStarrr)



Category: Rugby Union RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 18:29:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1521041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JordStarrr/pseuds/XVettes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Awkward teenage fumbling, teddy bears and cuddles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Got You

François opened one eye and glanced at the clock for the umpteenth time that night. 

3.17.

Neither of them had slept a wink. Fulgence was across the room, tossing and turning as he had been since he'd stubbornly hidden himself under his duvet at 11. François hadn't dared to say anything - he thought he'd said more than enough - but he couldn't keep silent any longer. The tension in the air was so thick he felt he could cut it with a knife, and he was tired. Very tired. 

"Fufu," he whispered across the room. "Fufu!"

There was no response.

"Fufu, I know you're awake."

A rustle of sheets and creaking springs confirmed what he already knew. He bit his lip and thought. After all their arguing, he only really had one tool left in his arsenal. He was hesitant to use it, but shyly he asked, "Do you want to, um... Do you want to sleep here?"

Fulgence sat up among his pillows, scratching his head. "We're not ten any more, Fouass," he croaked disdainfully.

"No, but you slept then, didn't you?" François drew back his sheets and waited. "There's space if you want it."

Fufu had had a bad habit of waking up from nightmares and climbing into François' bed at that age. François had never been phased; they had always been close. Close enough that they might be brothers. He had always been able to soothe Fufu back to sleep - even if it had just been a matter of lending him his favourite bear back then. It would take more than petit Gaël to soothe this kind of pain. But that didn't necessarily mean that he'd be useless. 

François shrugged. It couldn't hurt. He scrabbled down the side of his bed (because at fifteen, he was far, far too old for teddy bears, but he had never been able to let go of Gaël) and retrieved his prize. Crossing his fingers that he wasn't going to start another argument, he pulled back his duvet and padded across the room in his pyjamas and socks to the spare bed - or as he affectionately called it these days, Fufu's bed. He had been sleeping in it a lot recently. François held out the bear and braced himself for Fufu's reaction.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "Take him, if you want him."

Fufu swallowed, tears pricking his eyes. He reached out and took the stuffed toy from François's hands, holding him gingerly in his lap. 

"I really am sorry, Fufu," François mumbled, his hands curling and uncurling into fists by his sides as they always did when he was nervous. 

"Fouass, it's fine," he said gently, and tapped the edge of the bed next to him. François sat down and the two of them stared at each other for a long moment in the dark. Fufu prayed that François couldn't see how upset he still was, while François worried for his friend. Fufu wouldn't talk about it, he never would, but he couldn't stop offering to listen.

Fufu placed Gaël to one side and beckoned François closer. "It's fine," he repeated, trying again to swallow down his emotion. "I know you're only worried." 

"I am worried," murmured François into Fufu's shoulder as they embraced. "Do you want me to stay? I will if you want. I don't mind," he added shyly. They hadn't shared a bed for a long time, but tonight felt different.

Fufu sniffed, his body slowly easing into the hug. François always smelled comforting; Fufu couldn't remember when he'd first started thinking of that smell as 'home', and he'd never dare to speak that aloud, but he had. François felt more like home to him than anywhere else. 

"Okay," he said bravely. "Stay, then." 

François grinned. He believed he must have got through to Fufu if he was letting him stay.

"Budge up," he whispered excitedly, nudging Fufu in the ribs. 

Fufu sighed, but shifted to his left, giving François space to lie down next to him. He did so with relish, tucking an elbow under the pillow and pulling the duvet up over himself, all the while smiling up at Fufu. He did it to hide that he was still nervous, and they'd known each other long enough both to know that. Fufu forced a thin smile, inching on to his back. His skin touched François' and reflexively, he jumped, turning quickly onto his side in an attempt to increase the space between them, only to find their faces inches apart. François closed his eyes, looking for all the world as if he was asleep already, all worry gone from his still child-like face. How could he look so peaceful? 

Fufu felt suddenly as if a hand had reached out and squeezed at his heart, and without knowing quite what had come over him, he touched a hand to François' cheek, stroking his thumb over that smooth curve, listening to François' soft sigh at the touch. He was vaguely aware that he shouldn't be doing it, but before he could listen to the voice which told him to stop, he leaned forwards and pressed his lips to François', feeling the breath catch in his chest as he did so. He felt François kiss back, just barely, before a confused murmur slipped from between his lips and he pulled away. 

"Mmph... What're you doin'?" he mumbled, his eyes half-open. 

Fufu's heart thumped inside his chest, the same feeling he always had when he was caught doing something he shouldn't, and for a few seconds blind panic overcame him. 

"N...nothing, Fouass," he stammered finally. "Go to sleep. I'm sorry." 

"Come here," whispered François, as though he had already forgotten all about it, and lifted his arm, allowing Fufu to tuck himself in against his chest, the same way he used to. He tilted his neck to kiss Fufu's temple and was asleep before his head hit the pillow again. 

Fufu, on the other hand, lay awake a while longer, pondering what it was that had made him try to kiss his best friend. He'd be lying if he said that he'd never felt the urge to kiss François before that moment; he had always brushed it away as a product of staying up too late and knowing each other inside out. They spent so much time together that it was probably inevitable for them to think of acting on the various and conflicting urges they were experiencing day in, day out with each other, but actually reaching out and doing it was something else altogether. Boys didn't kiss boys, not unless they wanted to get beaten up. 

But it wasn't boys. It was just François. He had only ever thought about François. His dark green eyes, his infectious giggle, the way he looked at Fufu, like he was always pleased to see him. He was his home now, and he dreaded the day that François realised just how beautiful he was and became the terror of the girls in their class. Several had already begun to make passes at him on a regular basis, but somehow he ignored it, wilfully or not. For him, that day would represent the beginning of François no longer being his. There would be no more nights like these, no more François to comfort him when he couldn't sleep or had nightmares - he hadn't needed it for a while but they had flared up recently and now François had his arms around him he couldn't imagine ever wanting anyone else that way - and the thought of losing all of this made him want to cry. 

Feeling small and pathetic, he inched a little closer to François and prayed that day would never come. 

Eventually he slept, drifting in and out of senseless dreams until he was woken by François stroking his hair and repeating that it was 'just a dream, Fufu, it's okay, you're safe now.' He burrowed into François' chest and shut his eyes tight, trying to remember what it was that had upset him in his sleep. Falling. He had been falling. 

"Mmph," he growled, grateful that it was a Saturday and they had no need to be at school. It was already light, and his eyelids were heavy. But the gentle pressure of François's arms around him made him feel safe again, and he was too sleepy to feel small and silly. 

"You've had quite a night, you have," teased François, still stroking his hair, his neck, his shoulders. 

Fufu huffed. It was all coming back to him now. Their fight, the hours he'd spent tossing and turning, Gaël the bear who was sitting proudly on the bedside table, and the - the kiss. The kiss that shouldn't have been. Panic snatched at his chest again, and he began to unconsciously tense up. François felt it, of course, and scratched gently at the base of his scalp. 

"Shh, it's okay," he whispered. "Everything's okay. I'm here." 

His breath shallow, Fufu eased himself away from François and wriggled onto his back. François touched a hand tentatively to his shoulder. 

"Mate," he said softly. "I know you don't talk about it, but if you ever change your mind..." 

"I know," he choked out through gritted teeth. François would always insist, and he had resolved never to give in. 

"You hungry?" François yawned halfway through his sentence but persevered anyway. "I'll go and get us some breakfast, I'm starving..." 

Fufu nodded, only half-listening. François didn't remember. Or if he did, he was going to act like it had never happened. Well, he thought, two can play at that game. But did he want to pretend it hadn't happened? Worse - did he want it to happen again? 

He looked to his right and realised that François had fallen asleep again, and laughed. 

"Shhh," hissed François, still awake, barely, putting a finger messily to his own lips. 

"Sorry," Fufu answered in a stage whisper. 

François reached out and placed a hand on Fufu's chest, fingers splayed in what in other circumstances might have felt like a gesture of ownership. The warm skin on his made him feel as though he were being branded. François was always warm. He welcomed the touch. 

"Fufu," he began quietly. Too quietly, and too seriously. A knot of fear curled itself tightly in Fufu's stomach. 

"That...thing, you did last night?" 

"What thing?" He didn't dare move his gaze from the ceiling. 

"You know the thing I mean." 

"I - uh."

"The thing, where you kissed me," François explained impatiently. 

"Oh. That," he tried to joke, as though he really had forgotten. 

"I just..." François mumbled, his eyes still closed, and Fufu noticed that his left hand was clenched into a fist. "I just wanted to say that if you ever wanted to do that again..." He opened his eyes and lifted the hand that rested on Fufu's chest to nudge his cheek gently until they were looking each other in the eye. Fufu's eyes were full of fear, and François was convinced his must be the same. He was doing his best to remain calm, but this was new territory and he was entitled to be bricking it a bit, he felt. 

"If you ever wanted to do that again," he repeated very softly, so softly he could barely hear himself. "I think I'd like that." 

Fufu closed his eyes tightly. He wasn't sure he had heard what he thought he had heard. 

"You... What?" he murmured, his brow crinkled in a frown.

François placed his hand over Fufu's forehead and stroked gently, as though he were trying to smooth out the frown. "Open your eyes," he whispered, touching the hand to Fufu's cheek. 

"Wh - what are you doing?" The touch was comforting, but his skin felt as though it were on fire. 

François inched closer, so close they were almost completely pressed together.   
"I'm not sure we should talk about it," he joked. "I think we should just...you know, try." 

"Fouass," he breathed, opening his eyes though every fibre of his body fought to keep them closed. "I'm scared." 

François smiled shyly, stroking his thumb over Fufu's cheekbone. "So am I. But I want to. Do you - "

"Yeah... Yeah, I think so." 

"So, shall we...?" François was beaming now, his infectious giggle threatening to spill over his lips. He didn't know what they were doing either, but he knew he liked it. 

Fufu nodded, almost smiling himself. "Um..." he started, speaking for the sake of it because he couldn't bear the silence. 

François nodded too, seeming to have made up his mind, and sliding one of his legs between Fufu's, he lowered his head and pressed their lips together. Once, twice, pressing slightly harder each time. Fufu had forgotten how to breathe; his left hand reached up of its own accord to tangle in François' thick hair as he tried desperately to remember how, but all he could think about was the pressure of François' mouth against his and the tingling sensation low in his belly which was increasing every time their lips met. 

François pulled away, gasping for breath slightly himself. "How was that?" he asked, with his lopsided smile. 

"That was, um, good," Fufu replied, nodding his head inanely. François giggled and pulled him on to his side, wrapping an arm around his waist and tucking the other under the pillow so that his hand rested on the back of Fufu's neck. 

"I want to do that again," he murmured, his lips dangerously close to Fufu's. "And so, I think, do you." 

"And what if I do?" He walked his fingertips gingerly up over François' chest until he could cup his face. He smiled; François, when he was happy, held the turn of the Earth in his hands, and it was infectious. 

François kissed him again mid-giggle. Their lips met over and over amid a sudden flurry of giggles from both sides, and their hands slowly began to explore bare skin and growing muscles, what felt like acres of exposed flesh at their fingertips. Fufu's hand brushed low over François' belly and recoiled for a second at what he thought he could feel underneath the striped pyjamas. 

François gasped into the kiss and pulled him closer; Fufu felt the slight pressure of a smile against his lips and repeated the motion, eager to see what would follow. After all, he was in a similar state - it happened all the time, and it *was* early in the morning. François, however, made a high-pitched noise somewhere in the back of his throat, and Fufu grinned, pulling back from the kiss, leaning his forehead against François'. 

"I like that noise," he whispered shyly. 

"I liked what you did," François replied, his breath shallow. He took Fufu's hand and placed it over his erection, the sensation muffled by two layers of clothing. "I'd like it if you did it again." 

"Is that... All because of me?" 

"Think so." 

"Maybe I will, then... In a minute." He withdrew his hand and watched François pout, smiling to himself. The idea that François responded to him like that gave him a thrill that went straight to his head. He toyed with François for a moment, kissing him softly and dragging his fingertips slowly down his belly to the waistband of his pyjamas and back up again, his breath catching at François' sigh each time they moved away from where he wanted them to be. Such a child-like thing, to still wear pyjamas, but he swore he couldn't sleep without them. Fufu was suddenly grateful for this extra layer between the two of them.

"Fouass," he chanced. "What do you want me to do?" 

François giggled, looking up at him with mischief in his eyes. "What do you think?" 

"I - I don't - I don't know what to do," he gulped, his hand hovering over François' waist, which seemed safer. 

"Yes, you do," François teased, still giggling, but then seemed to recover his composure and regarded him with a slightly more serious look. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Fufu shrugged. "I like this, I just... I don't know... what you like," he trailed off, feeling the blush rise in his cheeks, almost laughing at his own embarrassment. 

François reached up to pull him closer, and kissed him deeply. "If you want to, y'know," he murmured against Fufu's mouth. "That'd be, um, nice... But if you want, I can show you? So, um..." He pulled away and looked Fufu in the eye. "What do you want?" 

Possibilities flashed through Fufu's mind, each scarier than the last. Maybe François was right; maybe they shouldn't think too much. He tried to take a deep breath, all too aware of François scrutinising him with those deep green eyes, and spoke.

"I want you," he breathed. "I want to..touch you... I think. You can tell me if it's okay or not... Right?"

"Right." François smiled, eyes wide with want, and guided Fufu's hand slowly down over his belly, letting it rest over the waistband of his pyjamas. "Kiss me first," he pleaded, still smiling, and slid a hand round Fufu's waist until it rested in the middle of his back, fingers splayed. 

"I'll do what I want," joked Fufu clumsily, though all he wanted was to kiss François again. Not thinking became easier when François was kissing him; all he was aware of was the tingling in the pit of his stomach and the need growing uncomfortably between his legs. Tentatively, he slipped a hand beneath François' waistband and allowed the tips of his fingers to brush over the length of him, taking in how it felt. Hard and soft and strange and familiar, all at once, and François' gasp against his mouth was harsh and sudden and followed by a string of high-pitched, soft moans as he wrapped his palm around his cock and began moving it gently up and down. 

"Is this okay?" he asked amid François' sighs and moans. "Is this - like what you do?" 

"Yes!" gasped François, helplessly rocking his hips up into Fufu's hand. "I'm sort of - sort of, harder, but th - oh, yes - this is good..." He giggled, the smile spreading across his face like a sunrise. 

"How good?" 

"Oh, god..." François' moans had begun to increase in frequency and volume, along with the flush in his cheeks, turning them an utterly inviting shade of pink. "So good... Please, don't - stop - oh..." 

Impulsively, he turned onto his back and wriggled down into the sheets, discarding everything he had been wearing and turning back to Fufu with a sheepish grin. 

"Better," he whispered, inching closer again until his chest was against Fufu's, kissing him with renewed fervour, until he realised something was missing. Fufu's hand rested on his waist, fingertips pressing into the skin, and showed no sign of movement. François whined suggestively, only to hear a muffled laugh in response. 

"Please," he begged into the kiss. "Touch me again. Please, Fufu." 

Fufu smirked. "You're cute. Not like me," he murmured, kissing a trail across François' cheek and down his neck, his hand inching lower over his belly in the same instant. His fingers brushed the length of François' erection, edging away as François' hips rocked into the movement. 

"Fufu, please..." François sighed, the flush in his cheeks intensifying now that he was fully exposed. "I want you to." 

Fufu sighed, his lips brushing the soft patch of skin behind François' ear, and grasped him fully, sliding his palm slowly to the tip and back again, laughing under his breath at the stream of curses which flew suddenly from that innocent-looking mouth. François' hips bucked into his hand as he quickened his pace, fingers clutching desperately at his chest and shoulders, nails almost digging in. Fufu kissed him, briefly silencing his pleas for more, and began moving his hand still faster, his grip tightening, François moving his hips in time, breath shallow, nails leaving rings in Fufu's shoulder until he cried out against his neck, hips spasming, whispering Fufu's name as if to himself. He lay very still for a long moment, his body slowly relaxing, eyes closed, sighing happily as Fufu stroked his hair with his clean hand and kissed his temple. 

"That felt different from how I thought it would," he murmured eventually, laughing to himself. 

"You thought about it before?" 

François shifted onto his back and reached for something, giving up when he remembered he wasn't in his own bed. He looked over at Fufu and smiled sleepily.   
"What if I did?" 

Fufu's mind ran a mile a minute; his gut wanted to pin François to the sheets and demand he tell him every last detail, his head to run away so he could take in all of this. He listened to the former, gripping François' wrists and placing them above his head. He swung his leg over François' hips, leaning over him until they were pressed tightly together. 

"Tell me what you imagined," he whispered, nose to nose with François, who smiled and arched his back. 

"You," he blurted, tilting his head a little until their lips just met. "And me."

"What did we do?" His heart was pounding in his chest. He had never wanted this before; but here he was, and he liked it. More than liked it, he could feel a need for François building up inside him and had no idea what to do next. 

"Can I at least clean myself up first?" 

"No. Tell me now." 

François batted his eyelashes at him. "But I want to touch you... I want to see how you match up to how I imagine you." 

"And how do you imagine me?" 

"...I'll tell you afterwards." 

Ceding so early in the game would prove costly, Fufu was sure, but the thought of François' hand wrapped around him like that made his hips buck involuntarily. 

"I know you want me to..." 

Fufu stole one last kiss from François' lips and rolled away onto the sheets which had turned cold in his absence. François in turn stood and fetched a bundle of tissue from the box beside his bed. 

"We might need these again," he muttered, guiltily mopping at himself.

 

Fufu stared blankly at the ceiling, light-headed. Question after question floated through his mind - what had he just done? What did it mean, about him? About both of them? If it meant anything at all. It wasn't as if he'd never thought about it, when he was alone, late at night... He couldn't admit it to himself in the morning, but he had imagined what it would be like, more than once. François whispering in his ear, that fist curled around his cock - it had sent him to sleep more times than he cared to think about. What did that make him? A silly boy with a silly crush? But if François had thought about it too... 

"Now," François murmured, drawing the sheets back over them both. "I want to do that to you. But - " he continued, moving over Fufu and kissing a path down over his chest and stomach " - I don't want to use my hands..."

Fufu was only vaguely aware of what he was doing, despite the heat of François' lips on his skin, marking him, or so it seemed. He stared still at the grey-blue ceiling of François' childhood room and only when he was suddenly enveloped in a rush of wet heat did his head leave the pillow. He looked down into François' eyes, dark and hungry, mouth wrapped around his cock, and panicked. 

"Fouass," he blurted, pushing at François' shoulders, tears inexplicably filling his eyes. "Fouass, stop. Stop! Not now." 

François sat up, confused. "What's wrong? Don't you want me to?" He placed one hand on Fufu's belly in a gesture of comfort, though it felt as though it were burning through his skin. 

"No, it's not that," he replied through gritted teeth to try to control himself. "It's just - " He trailed off. 

"Just what?" François asked gently, pressing his lips to his temple. He pulled the sheets up over them both and rested a hand on Fufu's shoulder. "You can tell me, if you want to. I don't want to do anything you don't want." 

"I do want you to," Fufu muttered, his eyes tightly shut. "It's just - it's all - it's a lot, y'know? I can't take it all in. I'm scared. I'm sorry, Fouass." 

"You know that's the most you've opened up to me in years?" He opened his eyes to find François smiling down at him, eyes brimming with affection. "Don't be sorry," he whispered, sliding his arms around Fufu and pulling him close. "I guess I thought about this so many times I was kind of...eager. We can do whatever you want. I'm sorry if I scared you." 

"It's okay." Fufu nestled into François' chest, the same way he had before they had fallen asleep together, listening to the quick pulse of his heartbeat. "I - might have - thought about it too." 

"Oh?" François trailed a hand up and down Fufu's back, stilling occasionally to rub slow circles over his warm skin. "You...think about me, when you're touching yourself?" 

"No!" he blurted instinctively. "...Yes. Sometimes." 

François stroked his cheek with the backs of his fingers. "If you want," he suggested tentatively. "You can show me - what you do, I mean." 

"I don't know, Fouass..." His voice was about as small as he felt. 

"Are you scared of showing me? Or do you want to stay here?" 

"Mmph... I want to, I just..." 

François smiled, holding him closer. "D'you trust me?" 

François had held him just like this when they were younger, the nights he had stayed there and woken up from nightmares with those little arms tightly around him, that same soft voice telling him everything was okay and that he was safe and holding him until he fell asleep again. He had never stopped trying to make Fufu talk about what was making him sad, and somehow he knew when he was sad even when no one else could tell. Even past the countless times he'd brushed him away angrily, he would never stop trying. It was maddening; but worse than that, it was just his way of showing he cared.

"I trust you," he whispered, sure of his answer. 

"Come here," François whispered back, tilting his head up by the chin with the tips of his fingers. He kissed him, soft and slow, and comforting, and he felt once again as though a hand had reached out to squeeze his heart. "Lie back." 

"What for?" Fufu was loathe to leave the comfort of François' arms but did as he asked, shifting onto his back again. 

"You trust me, don't you?" François gave him a lopsided smile and nestled into his shoulder, resting an arm low over his belly. "I won't do anything you don't want." 

Rubbing a pattern of interlocking circles over Fufu's belly, François began to recount the ways he had imagined the two of them together, pausing every so often to kiss a short line along his collarbone. 

"I didn't mean to start thinking about us," he began, stroking the tips of his fingers over Fufu's right hip, which made him shiver. "It just happened, one night. I was trying to think about that girl in our class - the one with the long blonde hair?" 

"There are at least four with long blonde hair, Fouass," he choked out. 

"Well, yeah," agreed François. "I realised quite quickly that I didn't really know what she looked like, and the harder I tried to picture her face, the less I wanted to think about her sucking me off... And the more I wanted to think about you doing it instead... 

You've got such big hands, I thought about you holding me by the hips and, um, taking me in your mouth and, and looking up at me while you were doing it, and I wanted to reach out with my hands and pull you closer and well... It didn't take that long. And then I lay there and wondered what I was doing, thinking about my best friend while I was wanking. And after a while, I thought that it maybe didn't matter, as long as I didn't say anything, or try it on with you... It was just for me, right?" 

His hand had moved lower, refusing to touch Fufu properly, fingertips circling around the softest part of his belly, while Fufu's breath was shallow and harsh. He ached for more of François' touch, but at the same time he wanted to hear more. 

"So I stopped worrying about it. And I started thinking about you more often... Until it was nearly every time," he recounted shyly. "I imagined you touching me, and how it would feel to have you next to me, and your hands on me. And I imagined touching you, and what you sound like, when you come... I thought you'd be quiet... Shy. Not like me. You can't shut me up," he continued, giggling, before lifting his head a little. 

"Will you show me?" he asked. "What you do?" 

Feeling himself blush, Fufu nodded. "Okay. I will." 

"If it makes you feel any better..." François' hand slid around him, his grip tight, and he felt himself tense without meaning to. "Put your hand on mine, and show me." 

"Tell me what you thought about." 

"Put your hand on mine, and I'll tell you." François smirked; Fufu sighed and let his head fall back onto the pillow, placing his hand resignedly over François'. All thought of what he usually did when alone had been forgotten, but he tried, moving their hands up and down in a slow rhythm. 

"I imagined walking in on you... on you touching yourself. You didn't know I was there, you had music in your ears and you didn't see me come in. So I stood close by, and I watched..." 

Fufu's hand had found a rhythm of its own, something closer to the sensation he recalled from the last time, with François' hand hot and tight around him, allowing him to move both of them in time. 

"You were biting your lip," François hissed into his ear. "Your breath was high, and shallow, like it is now... And I watched you get faster, and faster... And I watched the muscles in your arm tense up as you did, and when you came - " Fufu groaned involuntarily, their hands picking up pace. François' voice was breathy and thick with want, and made an entirely unfamiliar kind of heat begin to pool in his belly.   
"When you came, I watched you say my name, and I watched you open your eyes and see that I was there..." 

"What... What did I - " 

"Shh," François continued. "Let me." 

He eased Fufu's hand away and continued the motion himself, working him over with growing boldness. He nipped at Fufu's neck, listening to his sighs and gasps. His eyes were closed, his head tipped back, chest rising and falling harshly. He was beautiful. François told him as much. 

"Shut up," Fufu laughed in response, arching his back against the rhythm of François' movements. 

"I mean it," François insisted, kissing a line from Fufu's jaw to his lips, stealing a deep kiss and relishing the groan that caught in Fufu's throat at he did. "I can't wait to watch you come." 

"Fouass, please..." he growled, one hand clutching at the sheets, his hips rocking helplessly into François' hand. "I'm - almost - *please* - " 

"I can't wait to watch you," François repeated, quickening his pace, kissing at Fufu's mouth as his body arched into him. 

"Fouass - *fuck*, fuck, don't - " 

"Come on, Fufu," he hissed. "For me. Now. For me," but his words were lost in the cry that came from Fufu's mouth as he came, shuddering, throwing his head back into the pillow. He smiled. 

"You're louder than I thought you'd be." 

"Shut up." 

 

He sat up, reaching again for the bunch of tissue he'd brought over and cleaning them both up with care. He wondered at how clear things seemed in his mind; he hadn't expected it to be so easy. When it came to it, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. 

Fufu, however, was not feeling so clear-headed. "Fouass," he whispered hoarsely, reaching for François' wrist as he sat next to him. "What the hell did we just do?" 

François smiled to himself. He threw the wad of tissues into the wastepaper bin a few feet away, and settled himself down under the sheets, touching a hand to Fufu's cheek. 

"Did you like it?" 

"Yes, but - " 

"Did it feel good?" 

"Yes, but - " 

"No buts." He smiled gently, stroking Fufu under his chin. "You liked it, and I liked it, and that's all there is to it." 

"But I don't know... How I feel. About you. Or...anything." 

"I know," François whispered. "Neither do I. D'you want breakfast?" 

"How are you thinking about your stomach? What if we're gay? What does any of this mean?" 

They lay still for a moment, looking at each other with irritation in their eyes. François was the first to burst into helpless giggles, sliding a hand down over Fufu's chest to tickle him under the ribs. Fufu in turn yelped, kicking out and hooting with laughter. François hadn't heard him laugh like that in a long time. A rush of affection swept through him; he threw his arms around his best friend and held him fast. 

"Whatever happens, I'll always be your mate," he promised, holding on to Fufu so tightly he almost worried his fingertips would leave bruises. 

"I know," replied Fufu, a little overwhelmed. He slowly eased his arms around François and pressed a kiss to his cheek. For the second time that morning, he whispered, "Fouass, I'm scared." 

"So am I." François pulled back and kissed his friend's forehead. "You've got me. And I've got you. We've got this far." 

"How can you be so confident?" Fufu sighed despairingly. 

He smoothed the frown line nestling between Fufu's brows with the tip of one finger. "I've got you," he said simply, as though it could solve all the problems in the world.


End file.
